Chapter 1

1

“On to thenext order of business. Changing our broom supplier.”

A very bored Clarabelle wanted to scream. The quarterly Colony Coven meeting was tedious, as usual. At times, Clarabelle wondered if she’d gotten stuck in a witchy version of Groundhog Day. Without even trying, she could have predicted the subjects they would cover, because they never seemed to change much.

First on the agenda, dwindling recruitment numbers. Today’s witches lacked interest in joining a coven with restrictive rules, even though those laws were in place for their protection. Not even the temptation of real power could draw them in. Gone were the days when most witches worshipped the Lord of Hades. Now, new wave, crystal-loving wannabe witches fell in with the Wiccans, who had been making a comeback.

Item two on the quarterly docket, the All Hallows’ Eve committee needed volunteers to ensure the yearly bonfire and ensuing orgy with Satan went smoothly. The Dark Lord did so hate it when he didn’t get at least one virgin to deflower. Never mind the fact that, in these modern times, virgins who made it to adulthood were a rarity.

Three, the coven coffers could use some replenishing. Bribing officials to look the other way when they almost burned down the forest didn’t come cheap. It didn’t matter the bonfire happened on private land. Eco warriors had been trying to get their old and sacred forest declared a historical site, complete with a permanent fire ban put in place.

Which led to number four, should they be hexing those annoying climate change twats? Bonfires weren’t their only target. They had a long list of causes they fought for that would affect the coven’s way of life. No witch wanted to see their gas stove banned. Cauldron cooking on an electric range just didn’t work the same.

Five—

“Are we boring you, Clarabelle?” The rebuke from Marjorie, current Coven Witch Superior dragged her attention back to the meeting at hand.

“Uh, sorry. Just thinking of the ride home. Forecast says rain.” She’d not checked before leaving on her broom.

“Afraid you’ll melt like your great-aunt?” mocked Jezebel. Then mimicked the famous line from the movie in a high-pitched voice, “I’m melting!”

“You know it was a badly cast rain-repelling spell that caused my aunt to die most horribly,” Clarabelle stated primly. “And you shouldn’t talk. With the amount of makeup you’re wearing, once you get wet, you’ll be lucky if you’re not mistaken for a ghoul.”

“Why you—”

“Daughters, that’s quite enough.” Marjorie’s firm tone quieted them both.

Clarabelle could have kicked herself for rising to Jezebel’s bait. “Sorry, Witch Superior,” she mumbled, even as she plotted revenge on Jezebel. The kind that couldn’t be traced to her. Their rivalry began in college and never stopped. Perhaps a hex on Jezebel’s favorite mascara? She’d read about one that turned eyelashes into wiggling spider legs.

“Seeing as how these meetings bore you, I have a task you can concentrate on. Two actually. Jezebel, you’ll be travelling to New York for Comicon with the aim of recruiting prospects.”

“Me? Why not her?” Jezebel jabbed a finger at Clarabelle.

“Because she is going to be investigating the suspicious disappearances of some witches in Ottawa, Canada.”

“Canada, as in the frozen wasteland north of us?” Jezebel snickered, whereas Clarabelle held in a sigh. She wasn’t about to point out that Ottawa pretty much had the same weather as New York because she didn’t want to piss off Marjorie, given the task sounded interesting. She’d not done anything of any note in months unless a pregnant hippo—by a drunk ogre—counted. He’d claimed he thought it was his wife. Said wife got offended seeing as how her girth was at least double that of the pregnant zoo animal.

Marjorie didn’t let Jezebel’s taunting pass. “Maybe you’re not the best person to send given your ignorance of simple geography. Do better or the next time you open your mouth to bray something stupid, I’ll turn you into a donkey.”

Ouch.

With that rebuke, the meeting ended, but Marjorie signaled for Clarabelle to remain behind.

She slid a folder over to Clarabelle, saying, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the rest of the coven, but you should know there might be danger.”

“You think the disappearances are linked to foul play?”

“It seems most likely, seeing as how it’s not just witches reported missing. We also have received reports of numerous werewolves losing touch with the local pack, as well as a half-elf, and a gargoyle. And those are just the ones we know of.”

“We’re sure they didn’t relocate?” Clarabelle questioned.

“Without taking a single thing with them?”

“Any clues as to why anyone would want to harm or take them?”

Marjorie shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I mean, if this were the Dark Ages, I’d suspect witch hunters, but with the wolves and others… It could be anything.”

“You don’t think it’s the government, do you?” A fear held by non-humans everywhere. It didn’t help that Hollywood movies and shows like Stranger Things and blockbuster books like Firestarter, always had those with special powers being studied and dissected in the name of science and national security.

“My sources inside the various agencies haven’t heard anything, but it’s a possibility. Think you can handle it?”

“No worries. I’ll figure it out.”

A cocky claim that proved harder to achieve than expected. For one, Ottawa sprawled over quite a distance. Two, the local pack refused to meet with her, citing they didn’t like to deal with outsiders. At least the Ottawa Coven agreed to talk with her. Not exactly surprising since they were the ones to notify Colony Coven—the main coven that ruled over the rest in North America—of the disappearances of their members.

Clarabelle met them in a Starbucks of all places, the witches each sipping a different foamy brew. Five women in total, ranging in age with one thing in common; a weak affinity for magic. They eyed Clarabelle with curiosity.

The oldest of them greeted her first. “Hi, I’m Jewel, and these are my sisters, Kandy, Gertrude, Nelly, and Fiona.”

Seeing as how Jewel hadn’t done anything to protect their conversation, Clarabelle flicked her hands quickly to settle a dome of privacy over them, which widened some eyes. “Hello, I’m Clarabelle Montgomery, Colony Coven attaché. Sorry to meet you under such circumstances.”

“Thanks for coming. We didn’t know what else to do,” Jewel apologized.

“You did the right thing. Can anyone tell me anything about the missing witches?” Clarabelle asked.

The youngest of the group, Kandy, with enough piercings to make Clarabelle leery of her spell-casting, given metal distorted, had a theory. “Maybe Felicia and Molly ran off together because they’re in love.”

“With none of their things?” scoffed Fiona, whose fiery red hair didn’t come naturally.

Kandy didn’t seem daunted by her retort. “Minimalist living is a growing trend.”

Before Fiona could mock the girl, Gertrude, with her gray hair pinned in a chignon, snorted. “Don’t be an idiot and stop sniffing so much toad juice. They disappeared a month apart, and you know damned well Felicia was engaged to that lawyer in the Glebe.”

“Only the two gone?” Clarabelle clarified.

“We thought there was a third, but Gloria, unlike the others, cleared out her apartment. Most likely she joined another group. Not a big loss. She lacked a willingness to follow the rules,” explained Jewel.

“Did they mention anything suspicious? Maybe someone following them? Emails? Texts?”

The women shook their heads.

The shyest member, Nelly, from behind her long bangs, whispered, “Do you think we’re in danger?”

Much as she wanted to reassure, Clarabelle remained honest. “Until we know what’s going on, you might want to take precautions. Don’t go anywhere by yourself. Report anything that seems odd. Put protection spells on your doors and windows. Check-in with each other often.”

Not the news they wanted to hear. The meeting broke up not long after, and Clarabelle found herself musing on what she’d learned. Not much other than it felt like foul play. Women, even witches, didn’t disappear without packing at least a bag. As she walked back to her hotel, while deep in thought, she still paid attention to her surroundings and immediately felt it when someone started to stare.

Rather than turn around to peek, she cast a spell of surveillance on the clip holding her hair back. It recorded what it saw and she watched it once she returned to her hotel, which turned out to not be as interesting as expected. The replay showed some big blond dude staring after her before heading into a bar.

Just in case, she stored his image. After all, if witches were being targeted then she could be next.